Heartfelt Perceptions
by Dracos Diablos
Summary: Draco and Harry both have their insecurities in these Dark times, and turn to one another for comfort. But which will need true love, before the end?
1. Duel Relationship

Heartfelt Perceptions - Chapter One: Duel Relationship 

_Author_: Dracos Diablos

_Genre_: Slash romance

_Rating_: PG -13

_Warnings_: This fanfiction contains slash/homosexual themes and some coarse language. Don't say I didn't warn you. 

_Disclaimer_: Names, places, items or anything within this fic remotely connected to the world of Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling and affiliated companies. I own nothing. Except maybe the spell _Laceratus_, for which I claim to have made up and therefore you may NOT use it in your own fic. But JK can have it if she wants. ^_-

_Author's Note_: Not my first ever fanfic, but the first under this pen name. Anybody remember Rachie.V from way back? That was me, if you were around back then, a couple of years ago. And yes, I write slash fics now… o_O But hey! What can ya do? Times change. NOW READ! Before I resort to something truly horrible! … Er, yeah. Review me too? 

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_---*_

_The second I saw him back at Hogwarts, I knew we had finally reached an understanding. Well, not quite an understanding. But he felt the pain I had been living all my life, to a certain degree._

_He hurt. And only I could recognize it for what it was._

_I knew of Sirius Black's death. My father held back nothing from me, considering my looming future as one of Voldemort's closest followers. My father was partly to blame for Black's death. Personally, I couldn't give a damn. But Potter could. I'd known him all these years, seen him go through so much (though hardly caring); yet never had the Golden Boy shown his suffering so obviously._

_For the first few weeks, the school was alive with rumours and gossip of the death of Sirius Black. At the same time, Potter went about his life in a sombre fashion, for he skulked through the school with Weasley and Granger, dark rings under his eyes. Most thought that he was straining under the pressure as The Boy Who Lived; most thought he was becoming afraid of Voldemort's ever increasing kill rate. They thought he was losing his nerve._

_But some connected Black's death and Potter's sudden misery, and rumours grew larger. Potter's Gryffindor followers managed to quash most of the gossip but I doubt they even knew the real deal behind Potter's pain._

_Eventually, most people thought he had gotten over it - he returned to his life as normal. As normal as it could be for that bloody prick. Quidditch. School work. His Gryffindor associates. Fans who couldn't get enough of the scar on his head. Potter even began to smile and laugh again. But his eyes were never the same. Nobody else saw it. Granger and Weasley were concerned, but nobody save probably Dumbledore and I could see it._

_Inside, he burned. Not out of anger. Or loneliness. Or even sadness. But he felt completely and utterly defeated. Helpless. He was waiting for doom to claim him._

_Weeks passed. Many weeks. Classes came and went and the once annoying sparkle of emerald eyes no longer glistened. Every dinner he ate and left, passing a few greetings or farewells on his way. He reigned over Quidditch. _

_But I hadn't confronted him since the beginning of our sixth year. Not once. In fact, my observing of Potter seemed to have attracted some unwanted attention._

_I can't say why. I do not know myself. But to see Potter going through the very thing I knew so intimately - it quelled any thoughts of humiliating him, of degrading him or insulting him. My fellow Slytherins continued in the act whenever they could; but I backed away from it. No more duels, arguments, fistfights. Even Crabbe and Goyle distanced themselves from me. What was once known as the ultimate rivalry seemed to have dwindled to dust. Draco Malfoy was no longer cold and cruel. He was cold, withdrawn and boring. Harry Potter continued in all his fake glory - fucking Holy Harry Potter. But of course, being the Gryffindor he is, he didn't intend on discovering why I had stopped harassing him. Instead, he seemed to embrace the newfound peace and ignored me._

_Positively infuriating. I suppose I had been hoping that he'd approach me and curse me half to death, trying to get a response of violence from me, so that all seemed normal again. But ever the fucking, accepting Gryffindor._

_But, I suppose I could sympathize; he had fallen into my now-familiar world of having to guard his every emotion, having to hide what he really felt. He had done it before, but now he had learned to master it out of sheer necessity. _

_I suppose I came to respect him._

_If only I had seen what respect would lead to._

_*---_

***

I walked slowly down the hill, the dancing blades of grass like carpet beneath my feet. God bless weekends. 

Dressed in a simple white cotton shirt, the top three buttons undone, and a pair of similarly boring cotton black pants, I carried my broomstick down to the Quidditch pitch. It was deserted.

I smiled to myself, more from relief than anything. I walked onto the hard surface of the well-worn pitch, looking up toward the sky. My neglected platinum blond hair, now jaw-length, fluttered before my eyes as I looked skyward. It was an overcast day, the clouds gloomy, dark and threatening to rain. I smirked to myself.

_Just the way I like it._

Seconds later I was in the air, pivoting, spiralling, soaring through the bitter wind. My hair flicked against the skin of my cheeks and neck, scraping my flesh like miniature daggers; this was my freedom. Flying had become an obsession, of late. More so than even Potter could compare to. I smirked. 

I flew higher and higher, revelling in the breeze and solitude. The stands were tiny specks, so far below that a person would seem like no more than a grain of dust littering my vision. I gave an exhalation of approval. Here is where none could judge me. 

Even the Dark Mark on my forearm could not define me here. Burnt into me that summer, I was now Voldemort's own. Or so it seemed.

But I am not like my father. I am no coward. He may consider the Malfoys to be the property of the Dark Lord, but I beg to differ. I am mine. And nobody else's. The Dark Mark will bind me to no one. It's just a tattoo.

I unbuttoned my shirt completely, my skin instantly chilled even further by the weather.

I closed my eyes and tipped into a dive. The wind soared past and screamed in my ears, and even beneath the eyelashes, I could feel my eyes water. My opened shirt whipped out from under my arms like loose wings; eyes still closed I gave another exhalation of vast satisfaction and I could almost sense the ground coming nearer. My hair streaming out behind me, slender form almost lying upon the broom's handle, I knew nothing but the thrill of adrenaline that began to flow through my veins, the closer to the ground I flew.

Suddenly, in one swift movement, I tore my eyes open and swerved up, before tumbling gracefully onto the ground, not even a foot below.

I lay on the pitch, looking at the grey clouds.

And smiled.

Without my constant harassing of Potter, I was pure. Pure and still sheer Slytherin. An unhealthy combination, perhaps. But all the more fitting for a Malfoy as perturbed as I.

The heavens above slowly fell apart like the fraying strands of a tapestry - the clouds let forth a curtain of rain and I smirked to myself, the droplets pooling on my skin.

"That was an impressive dive. As much as I hate to compliment you, I can't deny that you're improving remarkably."

I would know that voice anywhere. How many times had it described me as a heartless, arrogant asshole? Many, but not once this year. First time I had heard it using civil tones in my direction, though.

"Potter, what a pleasant surprise," I said calmly, not looking at him. Aware of my chest being bared to him but not really caring, I got to my feet in a smooth and flowing movement. I could feel his eyes watching me. Oh, how I loved to be so graceful - yet equally dangerous. 

I turned and saw him standing in the doorway of the changing rooms. His face held no expression. Without even trying, I could sense his aching soul. I pushed that awareness away and stood before Potter, shirt saturated from the rain and still undone.

Arms folded, he pushed himself off the doorframe and came walking towards me slowly. Midnight hair and eyes of jade, glasses of thin rectangular wire frames, he observed me.

I saw his eyes roam from my thin, curtaining hair to my eyes, to my chest, and eventually to observe my pants. I recognized this act. He was looking upon a Draco Malfoy he had never seen before. Robed and followed by Slytherins, hair smoothed back and dealing out nasty implications is one Malfoy. But the withdrawn, simply dressed and unaccompanied Malfoy is quite another. 

Potter was very wary. He had not confronted me such a way before. And he knew not what to expect.

"Thank you."

My thanks on the dive compliment seemed to melt some of his suspicion. Though, were I him, hearing a Slytherin say 'thank you' was an ever larger reason to be worried.

"You deserve it," he replied to me.

I stayed silent.

_What do you want, Potter?_

"What's up with you, Malfoy? You haven't said one rotten thing to me all year. And you don't socialize with your Slytherin housemates any more. You're always alone, Crabbe and Goyle never with you. And you're not…yourself," he seemed unsure of how to say it. I doubted he wanted to accept it. I had decided to leave him alone. And that disturbed him. Such an unfamiliar thing for him, to see Draco Malfoy walking past and not encountering hostility.

"What's up with me? I haven't changed, Potter. I stopped bullying the Boy Who Lived. And by refraining from picking on you, it has resulted in the Slytherins doubting my sincerity, your Gryffindor pals doubt me even more, everybody is wary of my intentions… I haven't changed Potter. I just became fed up with picking on Dumbledore's Golden Boy."

"Why?"

It was a simple question. And by asking me so softly, I knew in a flash. He trusted too swiftly. His nemesis of five years had given him one civil conversation and he was already losing his vigilance.

I couldn't handle such a swift change of hatred to trust. I had to brush him off. 

Holding my emotions aloof, I narrowed my eyes in mock anger. It was a fake glare, borne on nothing but the need to divert his attention elsewhere. But practice makes perfect, and the Malfoy sneer still worked on my fine features. He took a step back. 

He had never been so confused by me.

"Potter. I know you still grieve Black. I see it. You hide it from everyone. Even after all these months you still ache for your precious godfather, yet still you manage to act like nothing is wrong. _You're_ the one that's changed. You're not whole any more - _and I see it_."

At the mention of Black's name, Potter's eyes regained some emotion. Terrible, welling sadness. And anger.

_Well, it's better than nothing_, I thought dryly.

"What do you know?! You don't know anything!" he yelled. The rain increased and we stood, facing one another in the torrents. His hair slick to his head, glasses suddenly misted with condensation, he turned and bolted into the changing rooms.

I should have left it there, but his new approach towards me left me more curious than was healthy. Broomstick in hand, I followed him. He had taken off his glasses and was drying them.

"What do I know? Everything. You forget who my father is. I know all that happened to Black. And I see your suffering. _I see it, Potter!_ Don't pretend that I don't understand! You know it - deep down, that's exactly what we now have in common. We're both incomplete."

Putting his glasses back on furiously, he glared at me. I set my broom down and advanced towards him until we were staring into one another's eyes, our clothes still dripping. We were of a height. His green eyes flashed suddenly, hidden behind thin glass.

"You're in pain? You know nothing of it! Perhaps if your maniac of a father died, then perhaps you may know of what I feel. But Sirius could never be replaced! Yes I grieve him. Hermione and Ron think I've gotten over it. And the school thinks my life is peachy. Because I'm the big brave Harry Potter! Fucking hell Malfoy, I don't CARE if you're the only one to notice! The fact is, you're one of them! You're a Death Eater! So don't you EVER think we have ANYTHING in common!"

He turned from me. I heard a rasping sob escape him.

Even though it was hidden behind a cool expression, I was utterly shocked. In all our arguments, he had never been so…odd . Neither had he ever fought against me so childishly. He was verbally and physically capable of much, _much_ more.

A sign of how much he hurt. And I could compare all the more.

I put a hand on his shoulder, half expecting him to turn around and smack me in the face. Or at least shrug away from my touch.

But he just stood there, head bowed. I knew he was weeping.

"I have been forced all my life to live a lie. I have been forced into the role of a Death Eater. Forced to hate you because you are the Lord's enemy. Forced to walk in the footsteps of my father. I know pain. My mother cares not for my misery, though she is not unaware. These Slytherins - they think they know me better than anyone, they think they know who Draco is. They do not. I have been alone so long. _So long_. To see you suffering as much as me - it made me realize. I respect you. Because you are perhaps the only other person in this school who can understand real pain." As I spoke, Potter turned toward me. Tears spilling down his cheeks though still dignified, he glared at me. Again.

"Respect? How could you respect _anybody_, Draco Malfoy? You're a _liar_." He spat the insult at me. It was a moment later that he realized.

For I had expected him to understand. I had thought he would sympathize. Gryffindor that he was, I thought he would be able to accept me. Or at least have not discriminated me for spilling my heart out to him.

_Fool, Draco. You're a fool! How could you think that anybody would ever accept you, your enemy most of all?! You are eternally alone. Might as well get used to living behind a façade for the rest of your life. You - are - worthless._

I pushed back those thoughts, gulping down my fear. I think that was the first time I had ever given myself away through a facial expression. Pain. No - _agony_. It tore at my heart, cold as it was. 

I backed away from Potter, lips parted slightly in dismay. My eyes held horror. 

And he saw straight through me. 

He saw my sincerity. And my suffering. He saw it. And was instantly aware that everything I had ever been to him had never been real - we were not enemies. We were almost kin. Together we alone knew the truths of evil. We alone.

"Malfoy - Malfoy I'm sorry!" Potter spluttered. "I - I thought you were lying! I didn't realize -"

"No." I cut him off hoarsely. My throat was tight. It would not be the first time I cried. But I would not allow myself to sob before Harry Potter. "Just shut the fuck up, Potter. You've proven what I've known all along. My life - it's a lie. And I will remain hated by all save the people I myself despise."

I turned and ran, leaving my broomstick behind. I knew he'd store it in the shed for me.

My tears blinded me.

***

Weeks passed. In those weeks I took up my former self once more. Nasty, bitter and pure Malfoy - the Slytherins loved me again, admiring me. Yet I still refrained from taking out my anger on Potter, and paid attention to everyone else. My housemates noted this, but decided it was better than nothing. Terrorizing almost every student in the school was still satisfying, to a degree.

But, deep down, I was so sorry. So sorry for making these people live in fear of us. They knew we were Death Eaters. We weren't school bullies. We were bringers of Evil. If anyone stood up to us, they wouldn't be pushed around in the courtyard. They would make their families enemies of Voldemort himself. Targets.

And so we tore through the school, plaguing them with fear. I did not like it. But to live alone, facing my real self… If even Saint Fucking Potter couldn't accept me, then who could? Better to live an acceptable lie than a lonely life of truth.

The teachers themselves were not quite so afraid. Being older, wiser and particularly more brave, they could still hold sway with us in the classrooms; Death Eaters we might be but expelled from the school gave our fathers no control over Hogwarts. At least this way Voldemort had eyes and ears in the school. But the slowly darkening curtain of fear continued to veil the Hogwarts' students.

I started to hate them all. They weren't entirely to blame. But every student, every teacher, every blade of grass within Hogwarts came to be a thing to be hated. I'm not sure if it were the same for my fellow Slytherin sixth and seventh years, but it's the way I felt, then. I hated it _all_. Everything except Harry Potter. I couldn't bring myself to degrade him - to hate him. The reason eluded me back then - I had fallen so deep into confusion of myself that I couldn't part the truth from the lies. Was I really so evil? Is my father my saviour, or my retribution? The Dark Mark - did it define me or defy me? I didn't know what I really wanted. I could not know. My lies clouded my mind and I hated all. Except Potter. 

_---*_

_I think then I began to fall. Our constant reign over the school began to poison my mind. I can't actually remember slipping from my sanity. All I remember from that time, is how all I felt was hate. All I knew was a burning resentment for anyone and anything, save Potter. He knew. He may not have accepted it. He may have crushed what hope I had left, back on the Quidditch pitch that day. But he knew. _

_Yet that knowledge was not enough to save me. I slowly began to sink further and further into the Death Eaters' grasp. They had me. Potter knew it. He had told no one that Draco is not what he seems. And he was too intelligent to try and break me free from the Dark grasp single-handedly. So he watched and waited while I plunged into darkness. I guess I was losing my mind. Slytherin House was monarch over Hogwarts. Dumbledore let fate carry his hopes and worries - what had to happen would happen, and he knew that it would be remedied sooner or later. So he let it continue. Now, after all has passed, I know that he had been relying on myself and Harry. But back then, I assumed him to be a weak, old-minded fool who had no power over a bunch of teenage Death Eaters._

_And I, Draco, began to lose what I once so obsessively tried to keep. A soul. A life of my own. Submission is cowardice. And that made me the world's most foolish coward.****_

_*---_

****

***

I lay on my bed in the Slytherin dorm, twirling my wand in my fingers. Crabbe, Goyle and the others were out terrorizing someone or another. I could hear a few second or third years in the common room but I ignored them.

My mind was blank. I was thinking of nothing. And nothing was incredibly boring.

I left the dorm and wandered the castle. Wherever I walked, students not of my own house slouched away, fearing me. Usually if it was a single Slytherin walking the corridors, people would scowl and whisper fearfully as they shuffled away.

But not I. I was the Slytherin prince - even my seventh year housemates respected me. They all admired me. I was their own, their pride.

And so I walked out of the oak double doors, people scurrying from me in frantic movements. I stalked across the school grounds, robes billowing out behind me. 

After a few minutes, I came to stand before the lake.

I had no idea why. Nobody to threaten out here. Fucking boring school. No good targets.

"Malfoy."

I spun on my heel, slender fingers already grasping my wand.

"Potter, do me a favour and piss off," I snarled, pointing my wand at his chest. The Gryffindor looked me in the eye. Flames of extreme annoyance licked my blood. Not quite hatred. 

_Getting closer, at least._

 __

"I came to apologize," Harry said softly, with a soft shrug of his shoulders. As if he was oblivious to my sudden change of rank around the school, he still stood before me, expecting me to treat him humanely. 

I stared at him. Not out of surprise or disbelief. Mainly just to scare him off. It didn't work. I looked him up and down and wished I could treat him like everyone else - with immense malice. But Potter was always different. 

"You tried to comfort me in a way, and even showed me a side of yourself that none have seen before. And I ignored that trust, so I apologize. You've treated me fairly this year, so I was hoping… well… truce?"

I looked down at the hand held out before me. He wanted a truce. Oh, how precious.

_Little Golden Boy thinks I'm too weak to take a bit of emotional rejection. Incompetent Gryffindors. We Slytherin bow to none. We show sympathy to none. We make truces with none. We - are - malice._

I seized his wrist and dragged him forwards so that he wasn't an inch away from me.

"I don't need your sympathy. The Dark Lord is all I need," I whispered menacingly, my breath stirring his very pores, so close was he.

"You need to find yourself first. Then you must decide where your loyalties lie," he replied to me. Not coldly. Simply. As if I had gone deranged. 

"Oh so I'm insane, now?" I asked, sneering.

Still almost pressed up against me, he remained expressionless.

"No. You've lost yourself. And I'm afraid it's my fault," he replied, his hot breath tickling my skin.

I shoved him away from me and he stumbled, but did not fall.

"Draco, I'm _sorry_! You truly are someone different…I don't want to be the one to have destroyed it!" he cried. 

_Why are you trying so hard to liberate me?_

"Just shut up and stay the hell away from me Potter. And do NOT call me Draco! I am a Malfoy!" I yelled at him, then turned, my robes sweeping the grass. I took another step towards the lake and fell to my knees in the grass. The giant squid shook a tentacle at me lazily.

_Why am I so confused?_ I thought miserably. _I'm a Death Eater. That's all I need to know. ..Is it?_

_Odd, how only you has been able to break me from my reverie. Odd, how you can make me feel bad for breaking limbs and uttering death threats. Only you, Potter. But it doesn't change anything. I'm still a Death Eater._

He came to stand behind me. One thing was clear. Something had definitely passed between us.

"I'm a Death Eater," I said sadly over my shoulder.

"Do you want to be?" he asked me. I watched as he crouched down beside me, robes enfolding about him like a bodice of  liquid. He was so unique. Just like I wished to be.

"Yes!" I retorted shrilly, fearful of my previous thoughts.

_How immoral for a Malfoy to shriek in denial. You filth._

"Draco, I'm sorry. I know you can be so much of a better person inside," Harry said softly, not looking at me. He picked up a stone and threw it into the lake. The giant squid moved one of its tentacles to avoid being hit.

"You don't know me at all," I growled softly. Who was he to judge me? He was Saint Potter, everybody's bloody hero. And I? Who was I, really?

_Who am I?_

"Why are you doing this, Potter?" I whispered, and looked at him with wild eyes. He read me easily. I was _lost._ I didn't know who I was anymore. 

"Draco…if you keep going on like this, you're gonna reach the point of no return. You're driving yourself further and further away from who you really are! Do you actually enjoy this?"

"Enjoy what?" I replied hoarsely. I didn't know what to think.

"Threatening families. Belonging to the Dark Lord. Giving the school a dose of evil."

"Of course I …" My voice trailed away. Did I enjoy it? Or did I do it because I was a coward? Too weak to try and face who I really was, so instead I hid behind my father's shadow, like every other Slytherin..?

_Weakling._

"I'm not!" I cried. Potter looked over at me. "Harry, I'm not a coward! I'm not! I…just called you by your first name…"

He smiled at me. It was still not a complete smile, but it lit up his face. And shook me to my core. This simple act was so out of league of who I really was. It wasn't _right._ But I liked it - his smile was a nice thing to be able to accept. But was I about to be accepted?

_Do I care? I've always been so independent. Why now should I need to feel acknowledged? So confused…_

"Draco. You need to shake off this…wrongness. Back on the Quidditch pitch, I believe that I truly saw a different side of you. The REAL Draco. You deserve so much better," he said softly. Quietly. 

I tore my eyes from him and looked at the pale shady water, trying to sort out my feelings.

"Draco, even now, you see me. You know that I still grieve Sirius. I know you still feel alone. We have both lost the very thing that made us whole. My godfather, and your soul."

"Why are you saying this?" I whispered.

"Because…like I said, you deserve so much better."

I stared at the water, still.

All my life, I had been somebody's tool. Toy: my father's son. Puppet: the Dark Lord's follower. Had I ever been me? And it was then that I truly believe I felt self-worth. It was then I opened my eyes and truly saw myself.

"You're right, Potter. I _do_ deserve better. But I won't find that in you," I sneered, and stood.

"What - " Potter began.

"Hush. Be silent! I've heard enough. And I believe you. You're right. But I will not accept anything else from you."

Half dazed from trying to wake from my reverie that had taken hold since the Quidditch pitch, and half giddy with anger, I pulled up the sleeve of my robes. I showed him the Dark Mark, and pointed my wand at it.

"_Laceratus_," I whispered.

My skin tore open. I clenched my teeth as I watched fold after fold of flesh undo and tear open. Blood seeped out and trickled down my arm, the pain escalating, and I gave a grunt in the back of my throat. 

"No!" Harry yelled, and launched himself at me. We crashed together on the grass, and my vision blurred as a stream of blood came form my arm. Beneath the curtain of red, I could still see the Mark. It was not a skin blemish; it was embedded into my flesh. It was a part of me.

My eyes welled in a great misery, and a single, lonely tear tracked down my face.

"Draco…" Harry whispered, eyes full of sadness. He reached over and touched my skin gingerly, his fingertip brushing away my tear.

We had fallen on the grass before a tree.

My vision blurred again, my forearm still open and weeping crimson rain.

I heard material tearing and looked over at Harry beside me. He had torn a black strip from the sleeve of his robes. He shuffled over to me and wrapped it around the gash in my arm.

"Stupid Potter," I whispered, "Use your bloody wand, for fuck's sake."

And I fainted.


	2. Just Like Me

Heartfelt Perceptions - Chapter Two: Just Like Me 

_Author_: Dracos Diablos

_Genre_: Slash romance

_Rating_: PG -13

_Warnings_: This fanfiction contains slash/homosexual themes and some coarse language. Don't say I didn't warn you. 

_Disclaimer_: Names, places, items or anything within this fic remotely connected to the world of Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling and affiliated companies. I own nothing. Except maybe the spell _Laceratus_, for which I claim to have made up and therefore you may NOT use it in your own fic. But JK can have it if she wants. ^_-

---

****

I awoke sometime in the night. It was dark. Pitch black. At first I thought I was dead. And then a tremble of pain slithered up my elbow, reassuring me that I was very much alive.

I sat up and my eyes focused blearily on what appeared to be the Hospital Wing. Potter had rushed me to the infirmary. Normally I would have scoffed at such an act, but I was surprisingly grateful. And horrified as I remembered my stupidity.

Once you were the Dark Lord's property, you remained his. 

I looked down at my arm and saw the white bandages wrapped tightly around my flesh, or what was left of it. The pain receded and throbbed dully.

It was then I noticed it. A figure, slumped in the chair next to the foot of my bed. I furrowed my pale brow in confusion. It was a ragged person, robes torn on one side. Messy black hair crowned a head that had slumped forwards onto its chest.

"Harry," I whispered, my heart stopping.

I crawled forward on my bed until I sat in front of him on the mattress, and prodded his shoulder.

He jolted awake.

"Draco… You're awake," he mumbled sleepily. His glasses were askew. I looked at the torn sleeve of his robes. He had done that to try and help me. To try and heal me.

"Harry…" I whispered. Overcome by gratitude and sadness, I threw myself at him.

He caught me smoothly, almost expecting it, and wrapped his arms around me, a large warm hand resting on my back protectively. 

Burrowing my face into his shoulder, my arms around his neck, I began to weep.

I wept for the loss of myself. Because I had given it to Voldemort. Because Harry was my last hope. Because I was so scared. And more alone than I had ever been.

Tears sliding down my face, I began to realize what it was to feel like my soul was gone.

He held me until my tears were done, then let me settle back onto the mattress. He gave a small smile and looked at me. No pity, sympathy or regret did I see in his eyes.

Only…

Kinship. We were brothers. Only we knew what we were. The universe could not know how my heart almost gave way at that point. Harry and I? We were alone. 

***

The weeks that followed were odd. One month had passed since the incident, and I now had two scars instead of one. A Dark Mark, and a livid red streak where my magic had cut deep, crossing diagonally across the black skull. Almost as if to say I rebelled Voldemort. It would not go unnoticed. I did not care.

I returned to an odd life. I was still a Slytherin, and so used was I to hiding my emotions, that they could not see how I had changed. I did not terrorize the students any longer. To be honest, I had no stomach for it anymore. I could handle it, but I wouldn't do it. I was not one of them anymore.

They noted my absence but did not remark on it. I did not care. They would never understand me.

Harry and I never spoke since that night. A part of me feared that he would tell the school and laugh it up that Draco Malfoy had lost his nerves of steel. 

But he didn't.

Every now and then he would glance at me across the hall to see me chatting with the Slytherins. And he would see right through my walls. He knew that even surrounded by my housemates, I was still utterly miserable and alone. 

His green eyes, lost for the lack of his godfather, sparked only when he looked upon me, when he watched me. Ready to pounce should another accost the already-tenuous healing process my soul was undertaking, Harry protected me. He knew me.

Only he could know, save perhaps Dumbledore. Indeed, once or twice at dinner I found the headmaster observing myself and Harry with great interest. This was enough for me to try and ignore Potter. If Dumbledore was getting ideas about us, then I was worried.

And so I stayed behind a wall that was solid to all save for two people.

Life continued.

It was one particular Charms class that it happened. We had doubled up with Gryffindor, and while trying to put up with Crabbe's horrendous spellwork, Harry passed my desk, heading towards Flitwick's desk. I watched him curiously; he had doubled up with that Granger, so why ask the help of a teacher? 

Harry conferred with Flitwick for a few minutes, then turned around and began to walk in between the desks. As he reached mine, a strip of parchment slithered underneath my hand that was resting on the desk. His warm fingertips brushed the top of my wrist and skidded up my arm as he walked past me.

I shivered at the contact. Crabbe, still trying to locate his wand that had been blasted out of his hand a few minutes before by some mistake of his own, had noticed nothing.

I opened the piece of parchment to find a neatly written message, the handwriting neat but square:

_"Meet me at the Quidditch pitch after dinner. Don't bring your broom."_

I folded the parchment and tucked it into my breast pocket.

***

Just after dinner that evening, I entered the Slytherin common room, and walked into my dorm. I ignored Crabbe and Goyle and pulled off my robes and clothing underneath. Digging through the pile of  clothing that was bulging out of my trunk, I pulled out a pair of black leather pants, and a slim grey t-shirt.

Who was I trying to impress, you ask? Certainly not Potter. 

I picked up my wand, slipped it into a tight back pocket and traipsed out the door.

"Who are you going off to meet, dressed like that?" Blaise accosted me, coming back from wherever he had been. Most probably scaring the balls off some fifth years. 

"Nobody. I'm off for a stroll, if you must know," I retorted with a smirk. Blaise backed off. Changed I might be but nobody would dare challenge a Malfoy. Inside I winced at my still-sharp spite.

I exited the Slytherin quarters, receiving a few approving looks from the Slytherin seventh-year girls. Not that I cared. My hair, now grown to my shoulders and hanging in terribly thin, silky blond locks, shone in the candlelight. Realizing I was probably late as usual, I jogged through the castle and out into the grounds. 

My heart was pounding.

There was nobody on the Quidditch pitch. It was dark, the moon having just arisen. A tinge of maroon still stained the inky blue darkness. The night was fresh and new.

I took in a deep breath and strolled across the pitch, hands hanging loosely by my sides. A breeze stirred and lifted up my hair, my t-shirt rippling against my chest and belly. The cool air calmed me and my senses slowly sharpened as I took in the night. I heard him long before I saw him.

He approached me from behind.

"I'm glad you came, Draco," he called.

"Let's get one thing straight. You helped me out. You even held me while I cried in your arms. But that doesn't make me your friend," I replied, and turned to greet him. Harry was observing me carefully.

"But that doesn't mean I'm not grateful for what you did," I finished, and looked him up and down. He was out of uniform too, wearing baggy blue jeans and a black t-shirt that clung to his muscled form. Quidditch had benefited us both.

"Well, that's an improvement at least," Harry replied dryly, and strode towards me. I backed away a step.

"What's all this about?" I asked him carefully.

A flicker of unease showed on his face.

"What is it?" I repeated. I was curious, but I wouldn't let my walls down. Well, as many as I had around Potter.

"I … just wanted to know how you were doing lately, that's all," he said quickly.

I raised a pale, thin eyebrow. 

_You're a bad liar, Potter._

"If that's what you really wanted, you wouldn't have asked me out to the Quidditch pitch after dinner where no one could listen in. And you wouldn't be dressed like _that_," I replied, and nodded at his clingy t-shirt.

"And leather pants aren't as bad?" Harry replied with a smirk.

"Are you implying something?" I narrowed my eyes dangerously.

"Are you?" Harry replied, grinning at my slowly brewing anger. Oh, how he could tick me off so easily. 

"Look, what do you want?" I asked tersely, and turned away from him, observing the empty stands. I waited for an answer.

"Draco…" he began, then sighed.

He walked up to me and stopped, standing just behind my right shoulder. I could feel the heat emanating from his body. He put a hand on my back comfortingly, his thigh brushing against the back of mine.

My body gave a very physical reply. Wearing leather pants was a mistake. But what the body wanted was not the same as one's mind. Besides, he was _male_. I wouldn't go _that_ far across the line.

Refusing to turn around and let him see the reaction from our proximity, I asked him coldly, "What did you call me out here for, Potter?"

"Weren't we on a first name basis a month ago?" Harry replied coyly.

He was toying with me! Bitch!

"Are you going to answer my question?" I growled.

Inside, I was disturbed that he wasn't the same kind boy that had tried to stop me from ripping open my arm.

He gave a sigh and walked out from behind me, his hand falling from my back. I watched him walking towards the stands. He stopped and slipped his hands into his pockets. I folded my arms and waited. I gave a satisfied smirk as my body settled down. He didn't have _that_ hold on me. Not yet. 

_Not ever_, I corrected myself, horrified. I was not gay. Therefore would not be turned on by any male, least of all Harry Potter.

"I wanted to see you again. To be fully honest with you, since that night in the Hospital Wing, I've been terrified that you would forget all I had said and would return to scaring the shit out of the students with the other Slytherins. But you didn't. I'm proud of you, to say the least."

He turned around, wearing a sad smile.

"I just wanted to see you again, is all."

Ah. He _hadn't_ changed. What a relief.

_'I just wanted to see you again.' ….What do you _really_ want, Potter?_

"What's there to see?" I replied haughtily.

"A whole lot more than you think, obviously," Harry retorted with a playful smirk.

"What, so Saint Potter is homosexual now?" I replied darkly, unfolding my arms.

"Who knows? Certainly not I," he replied calmly.

_I have no patience for this._

"Great. Well, now that you got to see me again, may I leave?" I asked, before turning around and beginning to walk away from him. 

"Wait!" Harry called. I turned.

His face was hard to read.

"When can I … when can I see you again?" he asked desperately.

My heart softened. He appeared so afraid that I would mock him, degrade him for being so weak. Once, I would have done. But not now. Not after all he had done for me.

"Harry, why do you need to see me in private? I'm always in classes, or playing Quidditch, or walking around the school somewhere," I replied quietly.

At the use of his first name, he took it as a good sign and his confidence boosted. I could see that much.

"But talking to you then would be…public. People have noticed that you've left me alone, but Potter and Malfoy talking civilly? Walking around in one another's company? The type of ideas they'd get… Besides, seeing you around like that is so impersonal."

_What do you really mean by that, Potter?_

"Why the need to see me and talk to me so much? I told you - whatever passed between us was significant, but that doesn't make me your best friend," I replied shortly.

"You … really opened up to me that day, here on the pitch. You showed me who you really are. I haven't seen it since. Half of it, perhaps. But you're _still_ not yourself," he finished.

_So this is what you're after._

"I'm being nice to you now, aren't I?" I said.

"That's not what I meant! I saw the real you, Draco. I - saw - you. Ever since then you've hidden yourself and it was all my fault. I .. really like the real you," Harry said, then blushed and looked at his feet.

He broke a barrier. A part of my vigilance cracked and fell to dust. I watched him as he stared at his feet. Such a childish gesture, yet looking so good in those clothes and scruffy black hair.

My mind flinched and jolted away from the thought, even as the bulge in my pants threatened me once again. 

"So what _is_ the real me, then?" I asked carefully.

"The Draco you were on your broom, back on that day. Opening your shirt, letting the air play with your body, spiralling towards the ground better than I could have done. Not giving a damn about Slytherin. Or Voldemort."

_Those days are lost to me, now._

"Ah."

"Draco, bring that side of you back! Carrying on like this, pretending to be who you're not.. you're confusing yourself! Please, just bring out the real you."

I stared at him as he looked up, eyes full of honesty.

He truly believed I had it in me.

"Harry... I will always, _always_ be a Malfoy. I'll always bear that name in someway. The Slytherins think I'm a hero, more because of my lineage than deserving the title. Hell, I don't want to be the Dark Lord's pet… but I'm not as strong as you think I am, Harry. I can't be who you want me to be. Who once I had been. Those days…they're gone. My childhood is gone, and my childish dreams with it. All that is left, is my alliance with _them_," I choked out.

All of the fear and apprehension, and misgivings of my self-worth: it all came bubbling back in a mad furore and there was nothing I could do to stop it. 

Tears leaked from my lashes, to patter onto my cheekbones. They were cold. So cold.

"Will I ever be warm again?" I whispered sadly, a finger brushing my pale skin, dampened by a tiny rivulet of woe.

"Of course you will," he replied, now standing directly beside me. He had put an arm around my shoulders without my noticing.

And so unlike the me that everybody knew, I gave a great gasping sob and turned into Harry's warmth, weeping against his chest once more.

"Oh Draco," was all he said, and wrapped his arms around me.

It was more the protection that he gave me, than affection for Harry that caused me to sink even further into his embrace, pulling down the shutter of Malfoy dignity.

He held me for the longest time. The night was blackened by the time I leaned away from him, face flushed.

Harry planted a kiss on my forehead.

"Just be who you are, and I promise you will always be able to rely on me. I promise."

Just such a small promise from him opened up such a massive gate in my heart, that I knew. I could never leave him.

As his enemy, I had been chained to him, all these years. It was my fault in the first place, back in my childish ignorance of our first year at Hogwarts. I had been the one to start our conflicting relationship. But even hating one another, it had brought a connection between us that nothing could break. Back then it had been hate. 

And now?

Well, there was only one opposite of hate.

***__

_But I am not like my father. I am no coward. He may consider the Malfoys to be the property of the Dark Lord, but I beg to differ. I am mine. And nobody else's. The Dark Mark will bind me to no one. It's just a tattoo._

That statement followed me everywhere the next day. Resolved to change myself completely, I vowed to be unlike my line of fathers - to stand outside the veil of shadow and Darkness. Almost like a palpable aura, I was suddenly faced with all the things I had never been able to appreciate: solitude, good food and sleep, to name a few. 

I found myself eating alone, arriving at the Slytherin table either very early or very late. I saw less and less of Slytherin, and more of Harry. Whether it was just in class, or in Quidditch practice (and even then I barely spoke to the Slytherins), I could always feel his eyes on me.

I admit that a big part of me tried to tear away, tried to throw my heart back into the hands of the Dark side - to be cold and unreasonable once more. But I just found that I couldn't do it. Not when the rest of me knew what I was throwing away; not when Harry was observing my every move.

But that wasn't unwanted. To find Harry dutifully keeping an eye on me, it reminded me how serious he had been. I found it to be more of a blessing than a curse - to know that still alone, I was not unappreciated.

Yet Slytherin house, right down to the first years, learnt to ignore me. They were still too afraid to rebuff a Malfoy outright - perturbed or not, my bloodlines were cleaner than any of theirs. They feared that. And left me alone.

Again, more weeks passed after my confrontation with Harry. It was one very late dinner that I sat alone in the Great Hall. My plate was the only one still left on the table, my goblet also; the House Elves still gave me a full array of platters to choose from, however. They could sympathize, minor as they were.

The Hall was very quiet.

I finished my meal, and the plates disappeared. I clutched my goblet, still half full, and looked into the pale, liquid contents. I gave a small sigh.

I missed Harry; missed his blushing admissions of friendship. Missed his vulnerabilities. Missed his equally strong side, his bravery, his protection that I seemed to love like a drug.

_Damn._

My head fell forwards onto the wooden surface, the goblet tipping over, knocked off balance by my fingers. I heard it roll across the table before clattering onto the stone floor below.

_So tired._

Barely minutes later, I heard the doors of the Great Hall open. A soft swish of fabric, and very, _very_ slow footsteps began to echo across the floor. Bleary eyed, I raised my head, some part of my brain acknowledging the smeared stain of pumpkin juice across the table.

My fatigue deserted me as soon as I realized who was walking towards me.

Dressed in simple black robe, but too tall to be a student, this man was as thin as myself. Yet was all the more masculine for it. He held himself superbly, movements mapped out in grace - he was the perfect specimen of beautiful.

But I knew him better.

Silvery blonde hair wavered down to his waist, framing his thin hips and hanging delicately at his back like a bodice of fine silk.

Pale grey eyes seared in anger as he looked down upon me. It had once been in pride that his eyes flashed. No longer. Such a price to pay.

_Father._

"Draco," he murmured, voice soft yet deadly.

"Father? What are you doing here?" I replied, my voice shaking. Of course I knew why he was here. All Slytherins in year six and seven were Death Eaters. The war demanded it to be so. And they were trained magnificently by their own fathers. Of course they had notified their parents of the Slytherin prince loosing both his pride and dignity. 

Or so they thought it to be. Still. My father had been notified. And now he was here.

Harry couldn't protect me now.

I stood from my chair, even as my father strode and stood before me, on the opposite side of the table. He didn't have his wand out. Which could mean only one thing. He was angrier than I had ever seen him.

He was going to beat the answers out of me. 

Violence was his most severe weapon; magic was handy, but when dealing with his son, it had to be more personal.__

"Draco, what have you been doing?" he asked quietly.

"Digging the truth from beneath a sea of lies. As usual, you have held back everything that was really worth knowing. Including my own self, my own soul. I may be your son, but to replicate me as a copy of yourself? You taught me too well. Eventually my own pride showed me that I was wallowing in _you_," I replied, voice wavering defiantly. But he saw the tremble in my eyes. My words were sharp, but the meaning was not. He was too used to this.

"I disagree. I have _not_ taught you well enough. Though I daresay it was more your ignorance than my lack of control that has resulted in this. You have not learnt anything, nor come to any remarkable realization. You were not wallowing in my image, as you seem to assume. You allowed me to bring you up as a Malfoy - it is only because of Potter that you are now having these…_delusions of grandeur_," he purred nastily.

Slender lips raised into a sneer on his face, as a slow swell of horror began to bubble in my stomach. He knew. The cold fear in my eyes told him all he needed to know. He knew of my friendship with Harry.

"How could you think," he smirked, walking around the edge of the table, "That I would never find out? That your little _confidante_ would exist without an identity? No, your father knew all, Draco. I knew the second you began to slip."

He was nearing me know, on my side of the Slytherin house table. I gulped. 

I had most definitely changed. Once I would have stood up to him, strived to prove my worth. Back when he owned me like a puppy.

"But I'm not yours anymore!" I cried out, my voice little more than a squeal, and I scrabbled away from him, tripping over a table leg. I fell flat on my backside.

Standing above me, my father gave a soft snarl of disgust, looking down into my eyes. His hair fell forwards slightly, strands peeking out from around his hips. 

His grace was flung aside, and he fell down on me like a beast to prey. Anger writhed within and around him, and I could almost breathe in his fury, so heated was he. A fist slammed into my cheekbone, his lower body heavier than one would assume, pinning me to the ground. I gave a hollow shout of fear, laid out on my back, my own father now straddling my hips. His knuckles crashed against my left cheekbone again.

"YOU FILTH! HE COULD HAVE GIVEN YOU MORE THAN POWER! YOU COULD HAVE HAD IT ALL!" Lucius screamed, mad fury driving him to a point of no return. He backhanded me, grabbed me by the shirt, pulled me up slightly, and then slammed me down against the stone floor.

I gave a hoarse choke, blood splattering out of my nose and mouth. He was too powerful. Still gripping me by the shirt, he lifted me again, my torso rising off the ground, and brought my bloody nose to his. Maddened fury stormed in his eyes, and he gave an exhalation of even deeper disgust, his hot breath stirring the strands of hair slicked to my face with blood. Our eyes, less than half an inch away from one another, locked; musky blue staring into musky blue. He pulled me up closer. 

And then he did it again.

"YOU - "

Slam.

"COULD - "

Slam.

"HAVE - "

Slam.

"HAD - "

Slam.

"IT - "

Slam.

"ALL!!"

He smashed me against the floor once more. My pain flowed freely through my veins, underlining all my senses with terror and agony. My very bones seemed to shriek with the hurt, more blood spraying from my mouth and nose.

"Father - !" I gasped out, "It's not you! It's me…I…I hate you controlling me! I want to be myself! Please…accept me!" I whispered, eyes watering. He looked down at me, still gripping me by my shirt.

For a second, I saw him as Harry had seen me. Free. 

I saw his love for me, as his son. That bond was once strong, though hidden from the public behind our faith to Voldemort; but it had been there, once. Affection for me. Yet as the Lord arose, my Father had been smothered in glory, and had lost his appreciation for me, save for the fact that I was his heir.

For the very last time I saw his love for me. But he had lost his weaknesses long ago. He could never be healed.

_Would I really have fallen so far, had not Harry seen the consequences of my current path? Oh, Father. I pity you._

His eyes widened, then narrowed, the pale grey orbs glittering with a mass of rain-coloured malice. He tried to read me but couldn't.

"Pathetic child.  You've thrown all away because OF THAT FUCKING HARRY POTTER! DAMN HIM AND DAMN YOU!" Lucius screamed once more, grabbing me by the scruff of my neck and dragging me up with him. He stood, grace lining his movements once more, and held me above the ground. Tall as I was, my toes touched naught but thin air. Not for long.

He threw me far and hard. I flew threw the air, fell, and skidded along the stone floor for a short way, clothes tearing, skin likewise. I halted directly in the middle of the Hall, facing the staff table.

My body felt too shattered and weak to move. I lay against the floor face down, my breathing shallow and hoarse. Marred with pain both physical and mental, I closed my eyes in disbelief. Was he going to kill me?

_I should have seen this coming._

"You have brought shame upon the Malfoys. Our line is broken because of you! We end in pity, in degradation! YOU SHAME ME, DRACO!" Lucius roared.

He rushed at me, picked me up around my waist, and even as I gave a cry of dread, he threw me once more, this time against the staff table. I crashed into it, giving a wild shriek.

He stood where he was and shrugged off his robes. Beneath was his slender body, framed in black cotton pants and a white shirt, top three buttons undone. 

My eyes widened as I looked at him, pushing myself off my elbows.

He was identical to me save for his age and hair length. His pale white skin showed from beneath the fabric, fairest flesh devoid of imperfection.

_Just like me._

I gave a sob more from knowing this was my father, that he now hated me, but that we were still so similar. He had never taught me how to dress. I had imitated him as a boy, wanting to be just like him. But never had I known that right down to our blood we might as well have been brothers. No, not brothers. 

He had given me everything, as his son. And I had turned it all down.

He drew a small knife from a pocket in his robes. On the small blade was carved a dragon, thin and serpentine. I saw the letters D R A C O shimmering along the scales of my dragon. It had been made specifically for me, for this purpose.

I knew what was coming.

He gave me my life. He had every right to take it back, did he deem it necessary.

His anger was gone. All that was left was his control of what was to happen next. He took that chance silently, with his ever-present poise.

Tears streamed down my face. I positioned myself so that my back was resting against a leg of the table, legs stretched out and pressed together before me, and held my head up high. My own, yet still proud.

"Take me," I whispered, the blood cooling on my chin. I wiped it away angrily, smearing my robes with a maroon tinge.

Gently, knowing he had won, he approached me. He kneeled down directly before me, keeping his legs parted so that his backside rested on my knees, his thighs on either side of me. The warmth of his groin and lower body seared into the skin of my own thighs, beneath the fabric of my robes and pants - but it couldn't remove the dead cold of my heart.

We were so close to one another that I could smell the natural scent I had inherited.

"And so ends us," he whispered, resting the flat of the knife along my throat. "A shame that, just as you reach pure manhood, my own flesh and blood… It is a shame I must end it here before you bring the rest of us down with you."

"I'm sorry," I whispered, staring into his eyes. My eyes. His.

"No, you're not. Potter showed you the side of the Light. And you're embracing it, or attempting to. And yet, you have seen how destructive it can be. They know nothing of us, Draco. You can never be one of them. Never! We were born to be on our own side. Bittersweet how I once doubted its worth, as you do now. But I knew that we could never join them. You do not see it, but we are two different races, the Light and the Dark. They with their ideals. We with our leader, who will bring us to the best of all ends. They will give way, before the end. You are one of us."

The knife dug into my skin.

"You're wrong," I whispered, my eyes never leaving his. My tears pooled and continued to spill over. He looked at them, and his lips parted to speak. 

"Am I?" he murmured. "Once I've finished with you, I'll take Potter to the Lord. That is part of my plan here, tonight."

The knife pierced a thin layer of skin. A droplet of blood formed on my neck, directly onto the scales of the steel dragon, held against my throat. I looked down at it.

_An image of Harry, laying dead at Voldemort's feet. Blood coursing down his forehead, his scar a livid red mark. Glasses shattered, jade eyes wide open but long past living. His hair wild as always, being twisted in the hands of his enemy, as the Dark Lord reigns finally over that which had stood in his path for so long._

_Harry's body battered, broken, scratched. Dead. Eternally gone. His soul nothing more than a fragment of a memory. He would laugh no more._

"NO!" I yelled, and dragged my gaze back up to look into my father's eyes. 

The image replayed in my mind, Harry's expression of long dead terror impaling my heart.

Tears poured once more, to run down my cheeks faster than before, and my father's eyes widened. 

My vision blurred. The horror of seeing Harry's future, should I die; it surpassed everything else and all I wanted was to stop that future from happening. 

My sadness peaked an incredible height and with a pure scream of defiance, I shoved my father's arm away from me, ducked down and dug my shoulder into his ribcage. With a burst of energy, I threw him up away from me, thrusting forwards with my shoulder. Lucius flew back from me to land a few feet away on his tailbone, eyes wide and surprised, hair wild and tangled about his shoulders. The dagger clattered away across the floor.

I got to my feet, my heart pulsing with newfound energy.

Finally remembering it, I pulled my wand out of my robes, just as I heard the doors to the Great Hall banging open. I ignored whoever was entering.

Anger poured through me, fruitful and full of hate.

"I won't let you! I WON'T LET YOU TAKE HARRY!" I shouted, and pointed the wand directly at my father's chest. My rage rose past anything I had ever felt before, blocking out all else. The very essence of it thundered through me.

I knew what must be done. I hated him to no ends.

The wand aimed at his heart, I screamed it out:

"AVADA KEDAV -- "

 He came up behind me, speedily and stealthily. Just as the rushing sound of death began to fill the Hall, green blurring our surroundings, my father staring up at me pitifully and terrified - a hand clapped itself to my mouth, the other hand dragging around my waist and pulling me back up against him.

He knew what effect it would have on me.

The imminent curse of death fell away, the green receding and the sound of rushing wind fading. The hate in my blood suddenly froze and fell to dust. My eyes widened at the shock of what I had been about to do.

Horrified and panting into Harry's hand, I gave way to tears once more. The wand fell from my fingers. Harry let me lean back against him and his hand moved down to my shoulder to support me, knowing I wouldn't try the spell again.

"Oh father, forgive me!" I cried out, tears staining my cheeks, looking out over Harry's arm.

Lucius stared up at me, betrayed but no longer surprised. In fact he appeared quite dignified, if not slightly ruffled. I knew better, being able to see through him better than anyone. I was so sorry.

Voldemort would never forgive him, and he would be condemned.

"I only wanted the best for you, Draco," he said quietly. He knew he was defeated.

I knew what he said was true. But he hadn't been right in trying to force it on me, all those years ago.

"What you envisioned as my future is not what I desire. Not anymore," I whispered back sadly. He heard me, and creased his fair brow, but said not a thing.

"Come on," Harry said gently, removing the arm from around my shoulders. He bent down, picked up my wand and I turned around to head out of the doors.

Dumbledore had been stood a little way behind us, watching quietly. He and Harry had arrived just in time…I supposed. But for what?

In time to stop my death?

My father's death? 

Or were they too late?

Voldemort would kill him for letting go of me like this. For failing in the mission he said he had been sent here for tonight.

Whatever the reason, Voldemort would be angry. And my father would be his target.

I stopped walking, and Harry stopped too, looking at me quizzically.

Voldemort would kill him.

I gave a choke, and struggled in Harry's arms, wanting to turn and run to my father. He would never live to survive the anger of his master!

"After all he's done to you, you would want to aid him now?" Harry said gently into my ear. I stopped trying to escape his grasp on my shoulders.

Silvery blond hair fell about my shoulders as I looked at my feet in dismay, eyes welling up once again. So much sadness.

_All I will have left is his name, his master's mark, and our shared physical appearance._

I looked over mine and Harry's shoulders, to find Dumbledore pointing his wand at Lucius, holding my father's wand in the other hand. Lucius looked up at me, eyes dead. He was finished.

And his son had been the one to do it.

"Goodbye Father," I said hoarsely, throat tight. And Harry took me to Dumbledore's office.

---

Chapter 3 coming soon!


End file.
